


Boy Like You (you make me blush)

by Hyeyu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Many synonyms for 'gyrating', Sexy Iwaizumi, Sexy dance, Strip Tease, Worth 1000 Yen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyeyu/pseuds/Hyeyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
“Say, Iwaizumi, about that bet…”
<br/><br/>
Iwaizumi grunted from where he was slouched over on the bench. “What about it?”
<br/><br/>
Matsukawa stretched lazily, waggling a suggestive eyebrow. “So I was thinking ‘strip dance’. Right here, right now.”
<br/><br/>
Oikawa nearly dropped his water bottle.</p>
</blockquote><br/>Matsukawa dares Iwaizumi to do a strip tease in the club room; everything only goes downwards (quite literally) from there.
            </blockquote>





	Boy Like You (you make me blush)

**Author's Note:**

> One fine night on Skype (caps and all):
> 
> IMAGINE IWAIZUMI LOSING A BET TO DO A STRIP DANCE IN THE LOCKER ROOM AND EVERYONE (TOORU ESP) EXPECTING HIM TO BE LIKE 'NO' AND GROWL AND BE AWKWARD AS FUCK AND ALL THAT SHIT.
> 
> BUT NO, IWAIZUMI STANDS, WHIPS HIS SHIRT OFF AND GYRATES AGAINST THE BENCH, EYES HOODED AND EVERYONE IS FULL OF ALL THE REGRETS. BECAUSE OFC IWAIZUMI GIVES EVERYTHING 100%
> 
> AND HIS OLDER SISTER WATCHES A LOT OF KPOP SO HE KNOWS HIS SHIT.
> 
> OIKAWA IS SO SCREWED.
> 
> This is that fic. I am gomen.
> 
> Title and song lyrics are from Nadia Oh's 'Hot Like Wow'.

It was supposed to be a silly bet. In hindsight though, whenever Matsukawa was involved, the word ‘silly’ could range from its actual definition to borderline-illegal.

Honestly, Oikawa couldn’t even remember what the two of them had been betting on. He hadn’t even known they had a bet going until all of them were changing in the locker room, aching and exhausted from two hours of spiking and receiving drills. From the corner of his eye, he saw Matsukawa’s head jerk up, and a sly grin stretch across his face.

“Say, Iwaizumi, about that bet…”

Iwaizumi grunted from where he was slouched over on the bench. “What about it?”

Matsukawa stretched lazily, waggling a suggestive eyebrow. “So I was thinking ‘strip dance’. Right here, right now.”

Oikawa nearly dropped his water bottle.

“I’m out.” Yahaba immediately stood up. “This is not compulsory suffering and I refuse to be party to this.”

“Awww c’mon, Yahaba. Just think – this is a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

“Do we get to record this?”

“Nope, I’m afraid it’s your own responsibility to figure out how to preserve this beautiful moment of your youth in your memories.” Matsukawa was already tapping at his phone. “I even got the perfect song for it; shame I left my Bluetooth speaker at home-”

“I have one,” Oikawa found himself saying, hastily schooling his face into an expression of disinterest when all the heads (sans Iwaizumi) in the clubroom whipped around to look at him. Kindaichi’s eyes were as round as saucers, and even Kunimi looked a little less ambivalent than usual.

“Oikawa-senpai, do you actually _approve_ -”

“Awesome, I knew we could count on our reliable captain.” Matsukawa beamed, stretching out his hand. “Toss it here, and let’s get this party started.”

Oikawa shot a discreet glance at Iwaizumi, who had remained suspiciously quiet throughout all this. From this angle, he couldn’t see the spiker’s face, but his posture was still relaxed, not tensed nor radiating anger. To be honest, Oikawa had expected Iwaizumi to growl an instant rejection, take offense, maybe even smack Matsukawa the way he usually did when the other senior player made one of his outrageous suggestions.

Iwaizumi’s expression didn’t look like any shade of offended Oikawa had ever seen though when he lifted his head, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “We gonna do this, huh? Right now?”

“No time like the present.” Matsukawa hummed a cheerful ditty as he synced his phone with Oikawa’s speakers. “Think of it as an early graduation gift for everyone. Seriously, Oikawa, why does your speaker have so many buttons – _there_ we go.”

“Oh, this is going to be good.” Hanamaki made an ostentatious show of taking out his wallet and rifling through it. “I knew all that extra change would come in handy.”

“I don’t think you can afford Iwaizumi-senpai, senpai.”

“Oooh,  burn.”

Initial apprehension over, Oikawa found himself grinning a little in anticipation as he sank into a sitting position beside Hanamaki.  As painful as the second-hand embarrassment might get, he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to stare shamelessly at Iwaizumi without being teased or called out on it.

(Okay, so Oikawa may or may not have been nursing a bit of a low-key crush on his friend. No one seemed to have cottoned on yet, especially Iwaizumi, and Oikawa was absolutely fine with it remaining that way.)

“It’s okay, Iwa-chan, we won’t laugh _too_ hard. If all else fails, just wriggle your hips a little. Shimmy shimmy boom shaka laka.”

The look Iwaizumi shot him was less than impressed, and Oikawa couldn’t resist tossing his sunniest grin back, even as he silently cursed the heat already beginning to creep up the back of his neck. A door clicked shut somewhere, and he vaguely wondered if Yahaba had managed the escape he had threatened to pull when the tinny strains of an electric sitar started to wail throughout the tiny clubroom space. Iwaizumi groaned.

“‘Hot Like Wow’? Really, Matsukawa?”

“Shhhh. Feel the music, _be_ the music.”

Another heartfelt grumble, then Iwaizumi got  to his feet.

More accurately, he _body rolled_ into a standing position, legs spread and suddenly, Oikawa could not breathe.

 

_The way you walked in, I saw you standing there_

_You caught me staring at you hot like wow_

 

Because there was no second-hand embarrassment, there was only first-hand arousal and holy shit, Iwaizumi was actually _really good at this._ Oikawa was one-hundred-percent not prepared for this version of Aobajousai’s ace, who gyrated against the bench as if it were his calling, all traces of fatigue seemingly evaporated into thin air as his hips rolled fluidly to the heavy beat of the song,

The shoes were the first to go, Iwaizumi discarding one with a brisk kick before almost delicately stepping out of the other in a series of quick footwork. A lazy spin, then Iwaizumi lifted his hand, ran it through short, spiky hair, then dragged it downwards over heavy-lidded eyes and sharp cheekbones to swipe over slightly parted lips. (Had they always been that full?) The other hand played with the hem of his gym shirt, fisting in the damp material before pulling it up halfway to flaunt chiseled abdominals sculpted from long hours of training. Long fingers splayed themselves over the expanse of  tanned skin, drumming lightly against the taut muscles as they snaked their way down to the juncture of his thighs. A trickle of sweat rolled down his neck; Iwaizumi carelessly swiped at it with his thumb, pressing the digit against his lips as a flash of tongue flicked out to lick at it.

“Oh god.”

“Oh _god._ ”

Someone whimpered; Oikawa thought it might be him, but he was too entranced by the curve of Iwaizumi’s half-smirk to pay the sound much mind. Belatedly, he crossed his legs, folding his hands across his lap as his eyes fastened onto the sight before him. Somewhere within his mind, his analytical side noted that, despite the sultry nature of the dance, it was somehow still characteristically Hajime; each movement was as crisp as it was fluid, raw power coiled and lurking behind every shift of his limbs. The canted hips and drawn-out rolls, while tantalising, were calculated and executed with the trademark deliberateness of a man who wasn’t fond of unnecessary flourishes.

Somehow, this awareness only served to make the whole experience that much more erotic, knowing that it was his childhood friend, his no-nonsense vice-captain who was at the core of this masturbation fantasy brought to unexpected life. Oikawa’s crotch began to throb, and he pressed his palms down harder in a vain attempt to mask the growing arousal as Iwaizumi continued to dance.

And _dance_ Iwaizumi did, hips swinging effortlessly, abs flexing, hands mapping the terrain of his own body thoroughly, all sharp angles and lean flesh. Peeling the shirt away from his body, he flashed his audience a sudden grin, all teeth before tugging the garment off and over his head in one clean movement, slinging it to the far corner of the room.

Faintly, Oikawa wondered if he should put in a requisition form for better ventilation in the clubroom.

 

_And if you want me to, I know just what to do_

_You got a body that is hot like wow_

 

A sinuous flying fall lowered Iwaizumi to the floor and he rolled languidly unto his back, hips thrusting into the air as he undulated gently against the hardwood, shooting coy glances at Oikawa through his lashes, and how had Oikawa never noticed now long Iwaizumi’s lashes were? A leg, thick and corded, stretched out and oh, there was Iwaizumi’s other leg, sliding down the length of it, hooking under the rubber hem of a sock and pushing it off enough to hang from long toes – a neat flick that emphasized the stretch of his calves sent it out of sight. A long, meaningful groan came from the left and Oikawa made an irritated shushing noise, gaze locked with Iwaizumi’s as the spiker languorously pushed himself upright, head falling back to reveal a long line of his neck. Oikawa wanted to fasten his lips to that line, wanted to mouth at it, maybe even bite-

A thousand yen bill, crumpled into a ball, smacked against Iwaizumi’s knee, and his head snapped back up, the first wry expression since the start of the act crossing his face . Without breaking his stride, he shifted into a semi-kneeling position, thighs parted as they grinded against the ground, straining against the stretch Iwaizumi was putting them through. He was right in front of Oikawa now, the setter realized as Iwaizumi deliberately unfolded the bill and, pressing it against his neck, proceeded to slide it down the plane of his torso towards where a smattering of light hair trailed tantalisingly into the top of his shorts.

 

_I know you see me looking, I see you looking too_

_You know you make me feel hot like wow_

 

Matsukawa, Oikawa decided, was either an asshole or a genius. Probably a genius asshole.

Up close, Iwaizumi’s eyes had green flecks in them; they blinked, slow and lazy as a self-assured smirk transformed Iwaizumi’s face into something new, someone unknown and familiar all at once. Iwaizumi’s default expressions generally wavered between presets of Serious Volleyball Player or Pissed-Off (-at-Oikawa)-High-School-Student; this sensual confidence he wore like a second skin was both foreign and enticing.

Iwaizumi’s fingers traced along the waistband of his pants, hooked in the rubber band and began tugging it down one inch as a time to reveal a strip of black cotton beneath. His tongue darted out again, wetted his lips and Oikawa couldn’t control himself any longer, reached out to touch-

The music cut off abruptly.

“Oooooops.” Matsukawa looked at his phone. “Battery died. Looks like the show’s over, folks.”

“Shame.” Hanamaki stretched and stood up, grinning. “You were definitely worth the 1000 yen, Iwaizumi. Ten out of ten would recommend.”

“Shut up.” The minute the speakers had cut off, Iwaizumi had promptly pulled his shorts back up, sitting back on his heels as his face immediately reconfigured itself back into its usual serious, if rather disgruntled expression. He didn’t move away from where he was sitting in front of Oikawa though, or look around for his shirt. “I win.”

“You win,” Matsukawa acknowledged with a Cheshire-like grin. “I’d say you win _big_. Didn’t think you’d do it.”

“Iwaizumi-senpai _,_ how..why...where did you even learn to _move_ like that? _”_ Kindaichi, looking as if he were sunburnt, took the words right out of Oikawa’s mouth. Iwaizumi shrugged, scratching his head.

“My sister is really into Korean pop music at the moment. She plugs her laptop into our TV sometimes to watch the music videos, tries to copy the dances.”

“Yo, Oikawa!” Matsukawa was already at the clubroom door, bag slung over his shoulder. “Gotta run; I don’t want to be too late for dinner. I left your speaker on the bench.” He waggled his eyebrows at his captain suggestively. “Remember to lock up properly later.”

One by one, the other volleyball members excused themselves, scurrying off with faces flushed various shades of red. And still Oikawa sat frozen, back stiff against the locker, painfully aware of how tight the front of his pants were, how his hands were the only thing concealing the damp patch that had soaked through the fabric.

“Yo, Trashykawa.”

So maybe he was lying to himself a little when he said ‘lowkey’ crush.

“Oikawa.”

He wasn’t sure how he was going to move without revealing his predicament, and Iwaizumi really needed to leave already, go to his duffel bag, anything-

“ _Tooru_.”

Oikawa jerked, eyes snapping up to Iwaizumi’s face, and the familiar exasperation was back, burrowing itself in between Iwaizumi’s eyebrows. The brazen confidence wasn’t completely dispelled though, still lurked in the shadow of a smile as Hajime leant in.

“You actually liked it, huh? Should’ve figured that’d be your kind of thing.”

“Buh?”

A large hand, powerful enough to drive volleyballs past their opponents’ defence, pushed past Oikawa’s own defenses as it settled against the locker door behind Oikawa’s head. “You seem a little… distracted.”

“O-oh, that’s just…well, I…it’s because-”

A flicker of hesitation, then Iwaizumi was pressing in, swallowing Oikawa’s strangled moan, his other hand coming up to cage him against the cool metal of the locker door. It took Oikawa a couple of seconds to realize that this was _actually happening_ before his own hands came up, tangling themselves in Iwaizumi’s hair as they kissed until they needed to break apart for air.

Panting, they held each other’s gaze, Iwaizumi with embarrassment staining his cheeks, Oikawa with wonder in his eyes as he breathed out a tiny ‘ _oh_.” Then he laughed, breathless and happy.

“Iwa-chan, did you just _kabedon_ me?”

“Idiot, what kind of question is that?” Iwaizumi kissed him again, long and hard. Something pressed against Oikawa’s arousal and he gasped, hips thrusting involuntarily into the pressure as he registered Iwaizumi’s knee pushing between his thighs. He felt rather than heard Iwaizumi’s chuckle, devoured the low sound hungrily until he felt warm fingers dip past the waistband of his shorts.

“Hnngh, I-Iwa- _Hajime_!”

Somewhere, in Oikawa’s bag, still tucked safely within its locker, a tiny beep on a cell phone announced a new message.

_You’re welcome. ;)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks heaps for reading! ✧⁺(●′▾‵●)⁺✧ Props to [enzen](http://wataksampingan.tumblr.com/), who not only beta-ed this for me, but also insisted I actually upload it. 
> 
> This was supposed to be crack fic but nooo, everything I touch becomes (questionable) Serious Writing (TM).
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://hweiro.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
